


A Tour of the Acre

by SodiumBlue



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Take on Sequence Mission, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Canon-Typical Violence, Jacob drags Freddy into situations, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sequence 7 Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SodiumBlue/pseuds/SodiumBlue
Summary: To get information he needs Jacob has to take Mrs. Disraeli, the wife of the Prime Minister, on a tour of Devil's Acre. Knowing this has the potential to end badly, Jacob enlists the help of someone he trusts to go with him incase the situation goes south. Freddy just hopes they all get out of this alive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This whole idea came about because while playing the mission where you are escorting Mrs. Disraeli though the slums of Devil's Acre. I failed twice because I refused to leave the woman by herself. Finally out of frustration I did leave her while running ahead, but was always worried it was a trap set up by the game to force you to have to run back and defend her. 
> 
> Then when Jacob is returning Desmond in the cutscene there is a Blighter with the same facial hair idea as Freddy, and my brother, who hadn't been paying attention, asked if that was Freddy in disguise. My muse decided that was a brilliant idea and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
> 
> Plus Freddy being around would give a better rationale for leaving Mrs. Disraeli alone during the mission.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Ubisoft, nor do I own any characters mentioned. This entire story is the work of an over active imagination.
> 
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jacob stood next to the coach and stared after Mrs. Disraeli, mouth agape and coach door still open, wondering what had just happened. The wife of the Prime Minister wanted him, Jacob Frye, to take her to Devil’s Acre. That sounded like a dangerous idea to Jacob, and he was the King of Dangerous Ideas. Blast, but he needed the information she could give him.

Jacob closed the coach door, and strolled away from 10 Downing Street mulling over this new conundrum. What was he supposed to do? He stopped to cross the street, and noticing a police carriage rolling past, pulled the brim of his hat down to cover most of his face. The constant police patrol was one of the many reasons Jacob avoided Westminster borough, outside of the borough still being Blighter territory that is. He’d rather be in Whitechapel, where the bobbys were few and the pub brawls aplenty.

Jacob watched the bobbies roll past from beneath his brim and contemplated whether or not he should tell Evie. She wouldn’t be pleased, but that seemed to be a constant state of being for her where he was concerned anymore. At the same time he wasn’t vazey, and taking Mrs. Disraeli into Devil’s Acre by himself was asking for Mary Anne Disraeli to be kidnapped or killed. Evie wouldn't be happy, but she’d accompany him. He could escort Mrs. Disraeli while Evie lurked on the rooftops in case of danger. Requesting she go with him, though, would cause quite a row, and would add another nail to the coffin their relationship was becoming.

Jacob stood at the curb and waited for the police to be out of sight before jumping atop the first carriage he saw. “Pardon me,” Jacob muttered, pushing the driver off and taking the reins himself.

“Hey!” The driver yelled from the dirt but Jacob paid him no mind. Turning the carriage around Jacob headed towards the bridge that would take him to Lambeth.

Who else did he trust to have his back? Evie always, but they weren’t getting along at the moment. The Rooks obviously, but for once Jacob wanted to avoid a fight, and taking any of the Rooks would be asking for one. He’d rather not involve Greenie, and Ned, while good for causing trouble, wasn’t a fighter. Jacob steered the horse down the road and absently noticed a chimney sweep waiting to cross the street with the same hair and beard style as one Sergeant Frederick Abberline. Jacob eyed the chimney sweep closer, making sure it wasn't actually Freddy. Ever since he'd fallen for the ‘Bank Manager’ rouse Jacob was careful when coming across someone who could be Freddy in disguise.

Jacob yanked the horse to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street. 

“Oi!” a man behind Jacob yelled. “What you think you’re doin’?” A carriage passed around Jacob, “Bloody tosser,” the man continued to curse, “what you stoppin in the middle of the street for?”

Jacob ignored him, watching as the chimney sweep took advantage of Jacob blocking the road and crossed the street. Freddy’s disguises could be the answer to Jacob’s problem. If he could talk Freddy into going disguised as a crawler, or even better as a Blighter, Jacob would have someone he trusted there in case of trouble. Plus Freddy knew how to fight and could take care of himself, and possibly Mrs. Disraeli, should Jacob get pulled away.

Jacob tugged the reins and turned the horse around, much the horse’s loud displeasure. Snapping the reins he brought the horse to a gallop and headed for The Strand and Scotland Yard; he needed to find Freddy.

 

Freddy wasn’t at the Yard, because of course he wasn't. Freddy had never struck Jacob as the sort to sit around so Jacob shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when a blue bottle informed him Freddy was out. Standing on the street outside the Yard Jacob contemplated his next course of action; he needed to find Freddy, but London was a big city and Freddy could be anywhere in it. Jacob closed his eyes, concentrated, and opened his eyes to the grey and white world of the second sight. He scanned around him, hoping Freddy would grow gold in a sea of blue, green, and red since Freddy was technically his target. No gold figure appeared, but a little green glowing child ran past across the street and Jacob took off after the Urchin, letting normal vision return. Clara’s Urchins were everywhere, maybe the boy could help him. He caught the child by the shoulder and pulled the boy around to face. 

“Mr. Jacob, sir?” the boy questioned, correcting the skewed hat on his little head.

“Have you seen Sergent Abberline?” Jacob asked, and frowned when the boy shook his head.

“No, sorry,” the boy said.

Well, there went that idea. Jacob dug a couple coins out from the pocket of his coat. “Thanks, kid,” he pressed the coins into the boy’s hand, “take food with you when you go back to Babylon Alley, yeah.” 

“Yeah,” The boy cheered, slipping the coins into his pocket. “Thanks, Mr. Jacob.” 

Jacob watched the Urchin scamper off then turned and headed down the street. Thankfully he had until the next evening before he returned to the Disraeli residence; hopefully he found Freddy before then.

Jacob returned to the carriage he'd left haphazardly on the curb and headed off. He'd just passed into Whitechapel when a police carriage went roaring past, Freddy at the reigns. Jacob pulled the horse around in the middle of the street, ignoring all the pedestrians and carriage drivers who yelled and cursed as Jacob forced his way through after Freddy. He followed Freddy all the way back to the Yard, and watched as Freddy unloaded a woman in a bright red jacket from the back of the carriage. Evie must have been out bounty hunting.

Jacob waited by the curb until Freddy returned outside, and pulled the commandeered carriage around front. “Freddy,” Jacob called to the man's back, sniggering when Freddy startled and whipped around. He ignored the swoop in his stomach, the same swoop he felt when doing a Leap of Faith from a high tower; the disconcerting lurch that meant he was throwing himself off a vantage point and trusting a pile of hay, or a crate of leaves below, to save him. All the gross and twisted inclinations Jacob had worked so hard to defeat in Crawley were no match for London and her sinful temptations.

“Jacob?” Freddy questioned, coming to stand by the edge of the carriage. “What are you doing here?”

Jacob jerked his head at the open seat next to him. “Hop on, Freddy.”

Freddy clambered on without hesitation and Jacob grinned a little grin. It was nice having someone trust him without question. Jacob clicked his tongue to get the horse moving.

Freddy waited until they pulled away from the Yard to ask questions. “What’s going on?” 

Jacob mulled over his words, wondering how best to phrase the favor he was about to ask.

“Jacob Frye at a loss for words?” Feddy teased when Jacob took too long to answer. “I feel as if this is a moment I should write down, if only to never forget it.”

“You wound me,” Jacob snarked, steering the horse towards Whitechapel. “I need a favor, Freddy.”

“What kind of favor?” Freddy asked, and Jacob glanced over to see Freddy eyeing him warily. “Favors from you make me nervous.”

Jacob sniggered, “I need information about a man in Parliament; when I inquired to Mrs. Disraeli-”

“How do you know the Disraeli's?” Freddy interrupted.

Jacob shrugged the question off. “Not significant. What is significant is that Mrs. Disraeli agreed to give me the information I need, but only if I take her on a tour of Devil’s Acre first.”

“No.” Freddy said with finality. “No. I will not be apart of some scheme that could kill the Prime Minister’s wife.”

“That’s why I need you to accompany me. I’m aware this has the potential to end badly, which is why I need someone I can depend upon to accompany me.”

“Which man in Parliament? Maybe I can answer your question and this whole awful situation will be avoided.” 

Jacob shot another look at Freddy, noticing the man’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and creases had formed around furrowed eyebrows. “A man with a mustache,” Jacob answered, turning back to the road, “and wears cavalry uniforms.”

Freddy sighed in relief. “That would be Lord Cardigan.”

“Do you know where I could find him?” Jacob asked, beginning to hope this Devil’s Acre tour would be called off.

Freddy thought for a moment. “Dammit,” Freddy muttered, “no I don't. Last I heard he wasn’t even in the country.”

“Looks like we’re back to touring Devil’s Acre,” Jacob said, resignation setting in.

“Indeed.” Freddy sighed.

Jacob sat quiet, letting Freddy mull the situation over. A lot of people were out this evening, creating a kind of music for the city. The clop of the horses hooves, and the creak of carriage wheels, the splash of puddles and the buzz of indecipherable conversation as people strolled past. Jacob steered the horse to make a left and headed down a side street, frowning when the carriage gave an ominous creak while rattling over the loose stone road. Next time he commandeered a carriage he would aim for a higher quality one.

Freddy eventually heaved a great sigh. “What disguise do I need?” He asked and Jacob shot the other man a grin.

“Anything that would fit in at Devil’s Acre, but if you could go as a Blighter that would be most beneficial.” Jacob answered, he heard Freddy scoff.

“I would never fit in as a Blighter, not counting they’d know something was off when they didn’t recognize me.”

Jacob shook his head, “The Blighters are still enormous, Freddy. You show up in one of those red jackets and say you belong, no one will question you.”

“You’re confident?” Freddy asked.

“Absolutely,” Jacob answered without hesitation. “I can even get a jacket for you.”

“Alright, I will go with you and Mrs. Disraeli to Devil’s Acre. God help me,” Freddy said.

“You’re the best, Freddy.” 

Freddy sighed again. “You’re going to be the death of me, I just know it.”

Jacob smirked, that sounded like a compliment.

“How are you going to get a jacket?” Freddy asked.

Jacob pulled the horse to a stop, “I’m not going to answer that.”

Freddy looked around at where they had stopped, eyes narrowing at the familiar surroundings. “Jacob,” Freddy ventured, “how do you know where I live?”

“I’m not going to answer that, either.”

Freddy stared at him for a moment, rolled his eyes in exasperation, then climbed from the carriage. “When can I expect the jacket?”

“I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning.” Jacob answered, “I’ll meet you at Bishopsgate Station at 10 o’clock.”

Freddy nodded and headed towards the door. “Have a good night,” Freddy called over his shoulder. 

“You too,” Jacob called back and pulled the horse away from the curb. He had a train to catch.

 

 

The next morning Jacob was up with the sun. Despite his tendency for being out all night, Jacob had always been an early riser. The train hideout hadn't begun service for the day, so Jacob had to walk from the backtracks to Bishopsgate Station, and then hitch a ride from there. He needed to find a Blighter about Freddy’s size and he couldn't do that in Whitechapel. Whitechapel was the Rooks strongest borough, and while there were still Blighters, they were very few and far between. Southwark, on the other hand, had plenty of Blighters, even though it too was Rook territory. 

There weren't many carriages out this early in the morning, so Jacob took one and headed for the bridge; with no one out he made it to Southwark quicker than usual. He left the carriage outside a pub that never closed, and scaled the building to get to the roof. Once Jacob found himself a good vantage point he plopped himself down and settled in to watch for some Blighters.

Twenty minutes later Jacob was bored. He watched a couple of Rooks meander past and decided it was time to cause some trouble.

He hit the ground hard, having leapt from a bit higher than he should of, and caught up with the Rooks.

“Want to cause some mischief, boys?” Jacob asked coming up between the two Rooks. “It's time we clean Southwark of Blighter presence.”

The two Rooks grinned. “I’m always up for causing trouble,” one answered, and the other nodded in agreement.

“Good,” Jacob grinned back. “Let's go find some Blighters. Hear any good rumors?”

“Indeed I have,” a Rook answered, sharing a look with the other Rook. “There’ve been rumors cargo will be passing through ‘ere on it’s way to Westminster. Supposed to be loaded with weapons.”

“Then let’s go find out,” Jacob smirked and headed back to the carriage he’d left outside the pub, both Rooks following behind. Hopefully the convoy that accompanied moving cargo had a Freddy-sized Blighter.

There was indeed a Freddy-sized Blighter in the convoy, and the rumor about the shipment being piled high with weapons turned out to be true as well. Jacob jumped down from the hijacked carriage, holding the horses steady while the two Rooks climbed on.

“Go pass these weapons out to anyone who needs them, and store the extra in the storehouse on Jacob's Island,” Jacob said, stepping away from the carriage as one of the Rooks grabbed the reins.

“The old Blighter stronghold we took by London Bridge Station?” The Rook without the reigns asked; Jacob nodded.

Old Blighter strongholds he or Evie liberated became a place for the Rooks to spend time and train for gang wars. He and Evie made sure all Blighters vacated the premises, and then the Rooks came in and kept the Blighters from coming back. The run down liberated buildings had turned into a place to store weapons, food, and clothes, as well as a place for homeless Rooks and some of Clara’s Urchins to get out of the rain and sleep with a roof over their heads.

“ O’ course,” the Rook with the reigns said and the carriage pulled away. Jacob waited until the Rooks were out of sight before returning to the bodies left lying in the street where they'd fallen, and stripping a Blighter of his jacket, trousers and hat. 

“These should fit,” Jacob spoke aloud to himself, tucking the clothes under his arm. “Now,” he looked around at all the civilians stopping to gawk at the brutal scene, “best escape the area.”

Jacob rope launched his way to a nearby roof, and stayed above London as he traveled back towards Whitechapel. When he reached the Thames he was forced to come down, and had to do so carefully lest he lose the hat. A carriage had been left unattended nearby so Jacob climbed on without a problem. He set the pile of clothes on the seat next to him and continued towards Whitechapel. 

The day had truly begun in London; people were everywhere, horses neighed and street merchants called out about their wares. Newspaper boys hollered and rang bells while the bellow of ship horns echoed throughout the streets. Jacob took a deep breath of musty, damp, foul smelling London air and grinned. He loved this city.

He reached Bishopsgate Station with no time to spare. Abandoning the carriage out front, Jacob walked into the station with the pile of clothes under one arm and hat in hand. The station was a bustling hub of activity. Multiple trains had arrived in tandem, and streams of people leaving and arriving made for a teeming mass of bodies in a cramped space. 

Jacob blinked hard and let the second sight take over, looking for Freddy in the muffled grey and white void. Jacob moved slowly, partly because he had to with all the people, and partly because if he moved too fast the second sight turned off. A flash of gold burst into view as Jacob moved through the crowd and he made a beeline for the golden figure lounging on a bench in the shadow of a staircase.

Jacob plopped onto the bench next to Freddy and stared out over the crowd with his second sight still on. He didn't see any red, and there wasn't much green either. Good.

“Freddy,” Jacob greeted, dropping the stack of clothes and the hat on the bench between them, keeping his hand atop the pile.

“Do we know each other?” Freddy asked, not taking his eyes from the people in front of him. It was a clever question since their entire plan could be ruined by eavesdropping ears and a loose tongue. 

Jacob grinned, “And here I thought we were friends, Freddy. We shouldn't be interrupted. I didn't notice any Blighters as I came in, and the Rooks are few.”

“Good,” Freddy said, reaching out to take the clothes and hat. Freddy’s warm hand pressed against Jacob’s and Jacob jumped, snatching his hand away. Searing waves of heat danced beneath his skin, and the swooping sensation was back in his stomach; his hand trembled, and Jacob clenched his fist hard. God, what was wrong with him? A man shouldn't incite these kinds of reactions in him.

Jacob shot a glance at Freddy, who hadn’t seemed to notice Jacob’s peculiar reaction. Good. Freddy was a friend, but Jacob knew from experience that no one was your friend once they found out you fancied men as well as women.

Freddy put the stack of clothes and hat on his other side. “What's the plan?”

A train whistled and began to pull away from the station; Jacob used the distraction as a chance to focus back on the task at hand and not on the buzzing thrum under his skin from Freddy’s touch. He slipped on his most devilish grin, the one he wore to cover up not knowing what he was doing. “There isn't one.”

Freddy pulled his pipe out of a coat pocket. “I'll make sure I'm inside before you arrive then.”

“Very well,” Jacob agreed, “but be careful you don't stray too close, don't want to accidentally kill you.”

“You paint such a lovely picture,” Freddy said, “and to think I've been dreading this since you brought it up yesterday.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jacob rolled his eyes, “since when have I led you wrong?”

Freddy gave Jacob an unimpressed look. “I try to avoid thinking about the Bank catastrophe.”

Jacob winced, “I didn't steal the money plates, Freddy.”

“No, you didn't,” Freddy agreed, puffing on his pipe. “You only killed the man I specifically said needed to be caught in the act to be arrested.”

“Death is so much more final than jail, Freddy.” Jacob rested his head on the back of bench. “I did you a favor.”

Freddy snorted, “I didn't realize sending England plummeting into ruin counted as a favor.”

“That wasn't me,” Jacob shot back, feeling the same righteous indignation he usually only felt with Evie begin to stir. Everyone continued to throw something that wasn't his fault in his face as though he were personally responsible. 

Freddy huffed and looked away, letting the argument fall.

“Do you have a time?” Freddy asked after a few moments, looking back at Jacob.

Jacob nodded, “I’m supposed to meet her at eight o’clock sharp.”

“I'll be in Devil’s Acre by eight o’clock then,” Freddy pulled out his pocketwatch, looked at it, then put it away. “Please do try to be prompt,” Freddy said as he picked up the clothes and hat and rose from the bench, “I don't want to be in Devil’s Acre any longer than I must be.”

“Of course,” Jacob stood as well and looked up at Freddy from beneath his hat brim, sultry smirk on his face, “would never want to keep you waiting.” 

Fredy's lips twitched into a grin as a train pulled into the station. The ear splitting shriek of the brakes engaging made hearing what Freddy said impossible.

“That's my train,” Freddy repeated once the train had stopped and hearing had returned. Freddy headed for the edge of the platform and shot Jacob a sloppy wave using the hand with the pipe still in it, spilling ash all over as he did so.

Jacob shook his head with a grin at Freddy’s expense and left the station. He had some time to kill before he needed to be at the Disraeli's and a gang stronghold in Lambeth needed conquering. 

 

 

It took Jacob a few moments to find Mrs. Disraeli when he arrived. She'd never said where to meet her and Jacob wasn't overly fond of front doors. Instead he perched on the roof of 10 Downing Street and sought her out. He found her sitting on a bench in her backyard, a bag with a dog in it beside her.

“Madame,” Jacob said, standing in front of Mrs. Disraeli.

“Mr. Frye,” she greeted in return.

“Ready to take the air? Devil’s Acre should just be coming alive.” Jacob may as well act excited about what he was about to do.

“I'm afraid I must cancel our engagement,” she said, looking truly upset about it. “The lawn,” she rose from her seat to stand beside him, “is crawling with scandal-hunting journalists, and I simply cannot be seen in the company of someone so…” she trailed off, motioning to his entire person with her hands. Jacob understood. The wife of the Prime Minister could not be seen galavanting off with him at strange hours of the night, even though she thought he was with the Met.

“I'll see them off,” Jacob offered quickly. He wanted to get this over with, plus Freddy was waiting. “You follow along when it's clear.” He gave her a weak grin and strode away as fast he could without seeming rude.

“Yes, yes. Be gentle, won't you?” Mrs. Disraeli called after him. Jacob froze. Exhaling a quick frustrated breath from his nose, he turned and walked slowly back towards her. Was she being serious? He was supposed to be gentle to the people who were ruining plans he didn't like for information he needed? Those journalists were going to be lucky if he didn't kill them. 

“The press are notoriously touchy about any violence to their person.” Mrs. Disraeli continued, picking up her dog-in-a-bag.

Jacob laughed the fakest laugh of his life. “I’ll barely ruffle a hair on their heads.” He reached out to pet the dog, but the little monster barked and bit at him. Jacob jerked away with a cry of alarm.

“Shush, Desmond,” Mrs. Disraeli patted the dog’s head. She smiled at him, and Jacob grimaced in return. 

Turning on his heel Jacob headed towards the street wondering how exactly he was supposed to do this. Killing them would be easy but they were innocent civilians, and while Jacob didn't agree with most tenets of their Creed, not harming innocents was one of the few he followed. Pressed against the side of the house Jacob peeked around the corner to see a group of journalists gathered outside the front door, a sight he had somehow missed while searching from the roof.

Jacob sighed again. How was he going to distract them? He noticed the guards standing out front and contemplated dispatching them; surely seeing a murder happen right before their very eyes would send the journalists running. No, the guards were technically innocent, and Freddy was putting himself in danger to do Jacob a favor. Killing any of the police would be a poor way of repaying the man who let he and his sister slip between the fingers of the law. 

Jacob reached for his belt, wondering how many smoke bombs he had left. A smoke bomb was harmless and could possibly scare away the journalists, but with his luck all that would happen would be the blue bottles coming to see who had thrown it. He scanned the street again, and noticed a little girl across the road sitting on a ledge swinging her feet. One of Clara’s Urchins no doubt, maybe she could help.

He approached the girl quietly, sticking to the shadows and places left unlit to escape the journalist’s notice. Appearing from the Prime Minister’s backyard would be just as scandalous as being caught with the Prime Minister’s wife. Jacob dug a handful of coins from his pocket while he walked, coming to a stop in front of the girl.

“That's yours,” he muttered low, showing her the handful of coins, “if you can get those chaps over there to follow me.”

“Right you are, sir,” the girl took the offered coins and hopped to her feet. “Blimey look,” the girl cried, arms waving. “It's Squire Bancroft.”

Squire Bancroft? He looked nothing like the chap. Surely the journalists wouldn't believe that.

“Mr. Bancroft!” A journalist whirled around, the others following behind the first.

“Best lead them astray before they tear me to shreds,” Jacob muttered and took off running. 

“Mr. Bancroft! Mr. Bancroft!” Multiple voices hollered, chasing after Jacob down the street. 

“What's coming up next for the Prince of Whales?” A journalist asked.

Jacob kept running.

“Will you be performing Mr. Robertson’s new work?” Another journalist called after him.

Jacob rounded a corner into the alleyway and rope launched his way up the side. Once on the roof, and away from the dogs, Jacob headed back towards the Disraeli residence. He stuck to the roofs in case the journalists were a persistent bunch.

He dropped down outside the garden Mrs. Disraeli had been waiting in only to realize she wasn't there anymore. “Where did she?” Jacob whirled in a circle, making sure he didn't run past her in his haste. He blinked and activated his second sight, scanning for the woman. He noticed her glowing green in front of the house and raised a bit off the ground. She must have gotten into her carriage already. Clever woman. 

“Neatly done, young man.” She called out the window as she saw him approach the plain, unmarked carriage she was in. “Dizzy ought to keep you on to deal with the Liberals. Now, a drive is in order, I think.”

Jacob tipped his hat to the woman, climbed up, and grabbed the reigns. Hopefully neither he, nor Freddy, nor Mrs. Disraeli ended up dead by the end of the night. He clicked his tongue and pulled the horse away from the curb.

“Who's a good horse,” he muttered to the mare, taking a turn a little more sharper than he should of, “you are.”

“There! In the cart,” he heard someone exclaim, “it's the Prime Minister’s wife!”

Blast.

“I really must not be seen here, Mr. Frye,” Mrs. Disraeli called out to him. 

Jacob clenched his teeth and pushed the horse to go faster. He took the first turn he found, then took a second turn, but still the coach of journalists crying Mrs. Disraeli's name was behind them. He made a sharp turn down a side road, going the wrong way down a one way street, and weaved around the carriages until they emerged on the other side with no one following them. He circled back around until he was once again on the path to Devil’s Acre. 

“There, in the carriage,” another voice called, “after them.”

Jacob rolled his eyes in exasperation. Dammit all.

“Let us avoid these vultures!” Mrs. Disraeli called out and Jacob couldn't agree more.

Spying an intersection with two carriages approaching from opposite directions Jacob pushed the horse to speed up again. If he timed this just right their carriage would make it through the narrowing gap of passing carriages, but the journalists following them would be forced to stop or else collide with those same carriages. He knew Mrs. Disraeli had caught on to his plan when he heard her gasp over the sound of the horse's hooves pounding.

“What the bloody ‘ell do ya think you’re doin’?” One of the carriage drivers yelled as the driver was forced to slow down, and swing around behind Jacob and Mrs. Disraeli as they plowed through the shrinking gap, barely avoiding a collision.

Jacob kept going, hearing the sounds of horses whinnying, wood splintering, and multiple voices cursing behind them. He turned a few streets later, setting their course to rights. Next stop: Devil’s Acre.

“Whoa, easy,” Jacob muttered to the horse, pulling the carriage to a stop outside Devil’s Acre. A quick shift into the second sight revealed a sea of red, and the single green figure of Mrs. Disraeli. Bloody hell. Jacob scanned the area again, but no other green figures lit up. Either Freddy had gotten tired of waiting and left, or the sight wasn’t seeing Blighter-Freddy as an ally. The second sight could been fooled, Jacob knew, it had happened before when Jacob thought Pearl Attaway to be an ally when she was the furthest thing from it. 

“Ooh, what a rough place!” Mrs. Disraeli exclaimed, helping herself down from the carriage. “Give me your arm, Mr. Frye. Let us see what Devil's Acre has to offer.” Jacob turned off his second sight and jumped down from the carriage; he offered Mrs. Disraeli his arm and gave her a moment to situate herself. She tucked her dog firmly in the crook of her other arm, took his offered arm, and pulled him down the stairs into the slum of Devil’s Acre.

The dog began barking only ten steps into the Acre, startling Jacob who immediately looked around for movement or reactions. Why did she bring the stupid mutt? Jacob was ready to call this whole thing off, information be damned. 

“Is your dog quite alright?” Jacob asked, trying to be polite about asking her to shut the dog up. They didn't need to draw attention.

“Oh Desmond’s fine,” Mrs. Disraeli answered, oblivious to what he was truly asking. “He's just not overfond of strangers. Or cats.”

They rounded a run down house to a section of gate that was falling apart. On the other side of the gate multiple Blighters milled around and Jacob was at a loss. He couldn't leave Mrs. Disraeli, but he couldn't let the Blighters see them walk through either. A shift of movement close behind him had Jacob watching over his shoulder, hand on his knives. 

A figure leaned against the side of the run down building they had just passed, bright red jacket and hat brim pulled low over their face. The figure shot Jacob a sly grin and Jacob grinned back in pure relief. Freddy was here. 

He made sure Mrs. Disraeli was out of sight behind an intact piece of fence. “Wait right here, Madame. There are people we can't allow to see us.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Disraeli gave him a big smile. “What fun.”

Jacob gave a brittle smile in return, did she not realize the method he would use to make sure they weren't seen? Probably not, she did still think he worked for the Met. He gave Freddy a little nod and Freddy nodded back. 

Ducking around the broken part of the fence Jacob got to work eradicating Blighter presence from their path. He tried not to stray too far, only taking care of the nearby Blighters.

He returned to Mrs. Disraeli a few moments later and a few knives shorter. He offered her his arm, which she took without comment, and they set off down the path again, Freddy following behind.

“Do you know this gentleman is a...oh what was it? Yes, a ‘costermonger’ of all things.” Mrs. Disraeli pointed out as they passed a group of lower class workers. “Remarkable how the working class occupy themselves, isn't it?”

“Very industrious, I'm sure.” Jacob sped the woman along. “Shall we go?”

They rounded another corner and Jacob almost jerked both of them back behind it before catching himself. Two Blighters’ heads could be seen over a rickety piece of fence, damn it all. He tucked Mrs. Disraeli against the wall where she was hidden from view, shot Freddy a glance, then pulled on his hood and crouched low as he walked; He needed to be silent about this. Thankfully neither Blighter was looking in his direction and Jacob was able to dispatch them both in one strike. He snagged the back of their jackets before they hit the ground, not wanting the ‘thump’ of a body to give him away. He set the bodies silently on the ground, pulled off his hood, and returned to Mrs. Disraeli.

“Madame,” he offered her his arm and they set off again.

“...and so the Vicar says,” a drunken man called as they walked past, “your pardon, bishop, I thought that was the Eucharist!” The drunken man cackled at his own joke, slapping his knee as he hunched over laughing.

“I'm so sorry,” Mrs. Disraeli said, “I have no earthly idea what you're talking about.”

Jacob cleared his throat, pulling her away. “Mrs. Disraeli,” he said, bringing her attention back to him and away from the drunkard who was giving them a funny look. Jacob spied a couple of Blighters standing beneath a crate of barrels in the distance ahead and threw a quick knife at the rope, making certain Mrs. Disraeli did not have sight of the scene to come. He ignored the distant crash and the cries of the barrels hitting the Blighters, giving Mrs. Disraeli a thin smile as they paused for a moment. Mrs. Disraeli smiled widely in return and Jacob realized in that moment Mrs. Disraeli was a lot more clever than he was giving her credit for. She knew exactly how he was preventing them from being seen. Regardless Jacob made sure the sight of the dead Blighters stayed well out of view as they walked past.

“Oh, Mr. Frye. Look at those two!” Mrs. Disraeli pointed out the two half dressed people pressed together in the shadow of the lanterns.

“Err, yes, they seem to be, ummmm….” Jacob racked his brain trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't be considered vulgar in present company.

“I've been married twice, Mr. Frye. I'm fully aware of what they're doing. God bless them both.”

Incredulous Jacob led Mrs. Disraeli toward the pub.

“What sort of meat is that man selling?” She asked as they walked past a man hollering about his wares.

“Best not to ask,” Jacob answered, leading her around another building.

“Why? Is it something dreadful? Oh,” she gasped, “is it rat?” Mrs. Disraeli was the only person Jacob knew who could sound horrified and excited at the prospect of rat meat.

“I don't mean to sound indelicate, given present company, but another name for it is ‘bow wow mutton’.”

Mrs. Disraeli clutched her bag dog a little tighter but didn't ask anymore questions.

They found another Blighter, so Jacob had to once again leave the woman in a safe spot under Freddy’s watchful eye, and clear their way of pests.

Jacob returned to the woman, and her dog, and led her the rest of the way to the pub.

“Here we are, the old One Tun Pub. Best beer in the Devil’s Acre,” Jacob announced, leading the woman to a seat at a table outside; he refused to take her inside the pub proper. He saw Freddy take a seat nearby at a table of other Blighters from the corner of his eye, so Jacob felt safe enough to run in and get himself a pint, and a small cup for Mrs. Disraeli.

He returned to the table and took a seat, setting his drink down and handing Mrs. Disraeli her's. She didn't question why her’s was a lot smaller and for that Jacob was thankful. Mrs. Disraeli grinned and held up her cup, Jacob raised his as well and they clanked mug to cup.

“So this is a ‘pint’ is it?” Mrs. Disraeli said, looking down into her cup. She pronounced the word ‘pint’ as if it were her first time saying it aloud. The woman took a swig and grimaced, looking at her cup as though it had betrayed her. “Remarkable,” she coughed. 

A man walked up to the table and Jacob tensed in expectation. “Nice doggie,” the man said then snatched the bag-dog off the table and ran.

“Desmond!” Mrs. Disraeli cried, jumping to her feet. Jacob glanced over at Freddy then took off after the dog thief, following the sounds of Desmond’s high pitched barks.

He chased the thief through Devil's Acre, cornering the man in a back alley.

“Good boy, Desmond,” Jacob glared at the thief, “hand over the mutt.”

“You'll change your tune when me and my friends find you,” the thief said, throwing the dog at Jacob and running away. Jacob couldn't help but smirk as he caught the dog; whatever intimidation tactic the man was trying to employ had failed spectacularly. Jacob had been on the receiving end of better threats from Clara, and he was far more terrified of her then a random Blighter.

“Now then, Desmond,” Jacob looked down at the dog, “let's get you back to your mistress….whom I've just left entirely unattended in one of London’s most dangerous pubs.” He raced back to the One Tun Pub hoping this hadn't been a setup. Freddy could handle himself, but up against multiple Blighters determined to harm the Prime Minister’s wife Jacob didn't know how Freddy would fare.

Jacob skid around the corner to see Mrs. Disraeli sitting at a table surrounded by Blighters, and Freddy.

“Well,” he heard Mrs. Disraeli say to the big Blighter sitting across from her, “if you never told your father how you felt about him, how was he supposed to know?”

“I never thought of it that way,” the big Blighter said, looking like he was about to cry, “I suppose deep down we all just want to be loved.”

Jacob approached the table slowly, not believing what he was seeing. Mrs. Disraeli, the wife of the Prime Minister, was holding court in Devil’s Acre to a table of dangerous Blighters, and Freddy.

“Just so,” Mrs. Disraeli agreed. “Here,” she pulled out a piece of candy, “have a sweetie.” She offered it to the Blighter who took it.

Jacob pushed his way between Freddy and another Blighter to get back to the table. He ignored Freddy’s look of disbelief and kept his eyes on the rest of the Blighters as he placed the bag-dog on the table in front of Mrs. Disraeli.

“Oh, Desmond.” Mrs. Disraeli cried in relief. “And Mr. Frye! I'd like you to meet…” Mrs. Disraeli turned to the Blighter sitting across from her. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

The Blighter looked up at Jacob, “John the Tosser,” the Blighter introduced himself.

Jacob stared at ‘John the Tosser’ for a moment, not sure what to do with the situation. “Charmed,” he said after a minute then turned to Mrs. Disraeli. “I think we had better get you home.”

“Right you are, Mr. Frye.” She agreed immediately standing up from her seat, and for the first time Jacob could see she was uncomfortable with her present company. “Come along, Desmond.” She picked up the blasted bag-dog and led the way out.

Jacob gave Freddy a weak shrug of confusion and followed Mrs. Disraeli away from the pub. Their path out wasn't nearly as crowded as their path in, and they managed to reach the carriage without any problems. He noticed Freddy wasn't following behind them as he had on the way in and hoped Freddy was able to extricate himself from the Blighters without any trouble. 

He held the carriage door for Mrs. Disraeli to climb in and shut it behind her once she was seated.

“Well, well, well,” a voice called and Jacob turned to see three Blighters walking over, one of them Jacob recognized as the dog snatcher. “If it isn't the dog walker,” the Blighter taunted, gang coming closer.

“Now,” Jacob growled, eyes narrowed, “let’s not do something we’ll regret.” 

The fight was over quick, a few punches and blade slices later all three Blighters lay dead at Jacob’s feet. Jacob climbed onto the carriage, picked up the reins, clicked his tongue and pulled away from the curb, giving the horse a quick, “You're doing fine, girl.”

“I must thank you for a most energetic and enlightening evening, Mr. Frye,” Mrs. Disraeli called out to him once they had put Devil’s Acre behind them.

“No, thank you, Madame.” The sight of Blighters gathered around Mrs. Disraeli and hanging on her every word was a vision Jacob hoped to never forget. “Perhaps now you might tell me about the man in the Hussar’s uniform?”

“Quite right,” Mrs. Disraeli agreed. “Lord Cardigan is the gentleman you seek. Tiresome man. Always blathering on about his military adventures.”

“Do you know where I might find him for a private conversation?” Jacob asked.

“I do indeed,” Mrs. Disraeli said. “He's in town now, as it happens, campaigning against the Corrupt Practices Bill. Perhaps you could catch him in the Palace of Westminster. Do be careful, the government can ill afford another scandal.”

“I assure you,” Jacob pulled the horse to a stop outside the Disraeli residence, “I'll be very discreet.” He jumped down and opened the door of the carriage. “Your stop, Madame,” Jacob waved his arm with a flourish. 

“My ‘stop’,” Mrs. Disraeli laughed, “how delightful, thank you.” She took Jacob’s offered hand to step out of the carriage and stood before Jacob, looking up at him in a peculiar, knowing way, and Jacob realized she knew exactly who he was, gang leader, assassin, and all.

“Thank you for a splendid evening, Mr. Frye,” Mrs. Disraeli's eyes went wide and innocent, and Jacob understood with startling clarity that this woman was good at getting people to underestimate her. “I shall be sure to speak highly of you to Dizzy,” She turned to face her own front door. “Oh,” she shook her hair back, “yes.” 

Jacob watched, dumbfounded, as the woman who outwitted him walked into her home. Mrs. Disraeli was a dangerous woman.

Jacob climbed back onto the carriage, not caring that it was the Disraeli’s, and picked up the reigns. He was about to set off when someone else joined him at the front of the carriage. Jacob had a knife to the other man's throat before realizing who it was.

“Bloody hell, Freddy,” Jacob breathed, putting his knife away and picking up the reins again.

“Please drive,” Freddy mumbled, pulling the hat he was still wearing down over his face. He’d ditched the red jacket at some point, but the hat and trousers remained. “I don't want the guards out front to recognize me.”

Jacob clicked his tongue against his teeth and the horse pulled away from 10 Downing Street.

Freddy sighed once they'd rounded a corner, letting his head thunk back against the carriage. “God, I need a drink.”

Jacob snorted in wry amusement, “That can be arranged.”

“Not in Westminster though, all the pubs in this borough are pretentious and sell nothing but shit,” Freddy muttered. 

“Such language,” Jacob teased, ignoring the glare Freddy shot him. “Whitechapel then,” Jacob eyed the hat still on Freddy's head, “may want to loose the hat though.”

Freddy took the hat off and threw it from the carriage. The hat spun as it flew, disappearing out of sight behind them.

Quiet descended upon them; Jacob steered and Freddy rested his head back against the carriage, eyes closed. Jacob enjoyed the sounds of the city this late in the evening; the creak of carriage wheels, the splash of an errant puddle, the sound of the river and the occasional bellow of a ship. Big Ben chimed out the hour and the sound burst through the quiet, sending birds airborne in surprise. A cool breeze was blowing and it looked like fog wouldn't be far gone.

They crossed into The Strand, giving Scotland Yard a wide berth, and continued on towards Whitechapel. The sound of a rowdy crowd and loud music reached their ears before even turning the last corner. Jacob could hear the sound of off-key singing, and the nonsensical shouting that usually preceded a brawl. 

Jacob pulled the carriage to a stop outside the Cauldon and Stewpot, one of the few decent pubs in Whitechapel, and nudged Freddy with his elbow to make sure the other man was awake. Freddy looked up at him in question and Jacob grinned.

“Drinks are on me, Freddy,” Jacob said, sliding off the carriage. Freddy followed him into the pub and found a table while Jacob grabbed them a couple of pints from the bar.

“Two please, James,” Jacob leant against the bar, half shouting to be heard over the noise. James nodded and slid two pints down to him, the beer sloshing and overflowing onto the counter, leaving a sticky trail in their wake.

Jacob grabbed the pints, turned back to the crowd, and scanned the room for Freddy. He found the other man at a table tucked into the back corner of the pub. Freddy was watching two men argue with a look of acute disinterest and Jacob hoped Freddy didn't intervene. In Whitechapel attempting to end a fight was the surest way of starting one.

“Your drink, sir,” Jacob said as he set the pint in front of Freddy and sat down. He took a long swig, enjoying the smooth taste of the beer rushing over his tongue, and thunked the mug back down to see Freddy still eyeing the fight brewing over Jacob’s shoulder.

“I wouldn't interrupt,” Jacob said taking another swig, “James will toss them out once fists fly.”

Freddy glanced at Jacob, picked up his own mug, and took a long swallow. “James?” Freddy inquired.

Jacob motioned to the man behind the bar. “James will turn his cheek to a lot, but any brawl needs to be had outside or he will force you out at gunpoint,” Jacob took another sip. “He doesn't believe in allowing his establishment to be destroyed. Most follow his rules, the few who don't aren't allowed back.”

“Sounds like a man I’d get along with,” Freddy said after taking another swig himself.

“Sate my curiosity, Freddy,” Jacob leaned across the table, a moth to Freddy’s flame, “just how did you keep those Blighters from laying a hand on Mrs. Disraeli?”

Freddy took a noticeably longer swallow of his beer, almost emptying the mug. “It wasn't simple by any means. I spent most of the evening before you arrived convincing any Blighter who would listen that both Frye twins were seen causing trouble for a smugglers boat on the Thames this evening,” Freddy leaned back in his chair. “Thankfully none of them realized said boat isn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow afternoon. You should inform Wynert in case he wasn't aware.”

“How did you know I knew Wynert?” Jacob asked with furrowed eyebrows. He never mentioned Ned to Freddy.

“The man is arrested and then disappears from under multiple police officers’ noses without a trace,” Freddy sat forward and leant his elbows on the table. “The only other person to do that was Robert Topping, and he's not inconspicuous when becoming entangled in a situation.”

Jacob had to agree with the point, Topping was ostentatious and didn't attempt to hide it.

Freddy dragged his mug closer and the metal scraped hard against the wooden table. “When you arrived a Blighter near the entrance heard her call you ‘Mr. Frye’ and all my work was undone with that single comment. I convinced them to let me tail you through Devil’s Acre to see whether or not you were the true ‘Jacob Frye’. Since none of them knew your face, once we arrived at the pub I informed them you simply had the same surname name and they believed me. Frye is a surprisingly common name in London.” Freddy emptied his mug and wiped his mouth with the side of his sleeve.

“Another?” Jacob asked, half rising from his seat.

Freddy shook his head, “No, thank you. I have to be at the Yard early tomorrow morning.”

Jacob sat back down and finished his own drink, “I’m gonna go get me another,” he stood from his seat and made a quick trip to the bar. He noticed the arguing men from earlier were gone; he hadn't heard any threats from James so Jacob figured they'd left of their own accord.

Jacob took his fresh pint and returned to the table. He sat back down and took a quick swig before returning his attention to Freddy. “That still doesn't answer my initial inquiry.”

Freddy sighed and continued his story. “By the time I told them I was certain you were not the notorious gang leader of the Rooks, the plan to snatch Mrs. Disraeli’s dog had already been concocted. The Blighter was to snatch her dog and while you gave chase the rest of us were to intimidate her into giving away valuable information about her husband. I know they were hoping for country secrets, or information Mr. Disraeli would pay to be certain never reached the public,” Freddy stared down into his empty mug, fingers nudging the cup so it tilted side to side.

“And?” Jacob prompted when it seemed Freddy wasn't going to continue.

Freddy shrugged, “And that's it.” He reached out and snatched Jacob’s mug, taking a quick swig before giving it back.

“Oye,” Jacob protested, tucking his mug closer, “thought you didn't want another.”

“Sorry,” Freddy grinned, not looking apologetic in the slightest, “just wanted a quick drink.”

Jacob rolled his eyes but made sure to keep his mug out of Freddy's reach. “You were saying,” Jacob prompted.

“I followed the rest of the Blighters to her table, panicking mind you, trying to figure out how to get her away from Devil’s Acre without getting us both killed. I didn't hear what the first Blighter said, but I do know she mentioned having regrets, such as not telling her first husband how she felt about him before he died.” Freddy shook his head. “Her eyes were wide and she talked as if we were all old friends. She has to know who the Blighters are, I refuse to believe she is that nïeve.”

Jacob grinned, “She's not, I noticed that as well. It seems she has become quite adept at getting people to underestimate her.”

Freddy nodded in agreement, “Quite. Regardless, she reacted to our presence as though we were guests come to call on her. She invited John the Tosser to sit down and asked him if he had any regrets after telling us the story about her first husband. To my utter surprise he answered that he did, and John the Tosser, a dangerous gang member, was sharing his troubles with the Prime Minister’s wife. Then you returned.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure,” Jacob raised his mug, “to successful endeavors.” He clunked his mug to Freddy’s empty one then threw back the rest of his beer. “I'll have to invite you next time I need assistance,” Jacob said as he dropped his now empty mug to the table. He liked the idea of keeping Freddy around and sniggered when he saw Freddy’s eyes roll.

“I have no doubt I'll be dragged into more schemes at some point or another,” Freddy pushed himself away from the table and to his feet, “for now I'll settle with you taking me home.”

“Aw,” Jacob pouted as he stood as well, “and here I thought the evening was going so well.”

Freddy rolled his eyes again but didn't comment, which amused Jacob to no end. 

They left the pub and Jacob was only mildly surprised to see their carriage still outside. It wasn't unusual to leave the Cauldron and Stewpot to find ones carriage had been pinched by a drunk, or not so drunk, patron of the pub. It was always a gamble whether or not you'd have to walk at the end of the night.

Jacob pulled himself onto the carriage and waited for Freddy to join him before pulling out onto the main road in the direction of Freddy's home.

“I have yet to learn how you know where I live,” Freddy murmured as Jacob sped the horse up.

“Freddy,” Jacob gasped scandalized, “I have to keep a few of my secrets. My air of mystery is the only thing keeping you interested.”

Feddy snorted in amusement, “I've been caught it seems.”

Jacob's heart stuttered, and for a moment he wished it were true. 

“Here you are, Freddy,” Jacob said as he pulled the carriage to a stop.

“Thank you,” Freddy hopped down, “for a most memorable evening, Jacob.”

Jacob grinned, “Anytime.”

Freddy grinned back, “I have no doubt.” Freddy headed down the path to his home and Jacob steered the horse away from the curb, steadfastly ignoring the desire to look back.


End file.
